What Are You Scared Of?
by RedAndRedder
Summary: Jason takes a hit of Scarecrow's new fear toxin and runs it out in front of everyone. Unsurprisingly, they are concerned about him. He kinda just wants them to leave him alone.
1. Scarecrow Sucks

"Look out!" was the command that came just too late.

Jason felt the needle of a dart bury itself in his shoulder - right between the Kevlar plates and through his under armour. Shit, Crane's aim is getting better. He reached around and ripped it out, but it was useless. Almost immediately, everything began to blur and sway. His skin started to prickled and suddenly, it was too bright, too loud, too much.

Fuck, it had to be a new strain or something - if it was affecting him like this.

Somewhere to his left, he could hear Bruce approaching him and he could kinda see the shadow of Batman stalking across the rooftop. Though, it wasn't until he felt Bruce's hand grab his shoulder that he actually registered who it was. Instinctively, he recoiled against the touch - already feeling the paranoia settling in - and Bruce stepped back.

"Hood," came Tim's voice from somewhere behind him. It was soft and low, like Jason was a startled animal - although he supposed that wasn't an entirely unfair analogy. As much as he was fighting it, he could feel it taking over and quickly too. There were shadows flickering in his peripherals and there was this noise in the back of his head that sounded too much like a cackle for Jason's comfort. "It's just me."

He staggered forward a little, feeling himself getting more and more disorientated. Someone reached out and grazed his arm, and he spun around suddenly. "Get the fuck away from me. All of you need to back the fuck up."

He really didn't want to wake up and find out that he'd killed one of them because they'd gotten too handsy. A blur of black and blue moved back and he could feel his breathing becoming more ragged. Everything was fully swaying now and it was becoming impossibly claustrophobic inside his helmet.

"He's gonna fall," came a voice that he was sure was Steph. Or maybe Barbara? He couldn't tell anymore.

Whoever it was, they were right because his knees almost immediately gave out. He felt Bruce catch him and he weakly struggled against it. Bruce carefully lowered him into the wet concrete of the rooftop and then stepped away. "Helmet," he managed to croak, his chest constricting painfully. "Off."

The latches on the sides were undone and then it slipped off. He had to ground himself, he thought. Focus on something, anything. Fight it off for as long as he could. He knew the places that the toxin would take him and it'd have to drag him there kicking and screaming.

The air was cold and so was the concrete. It was almost painful - the sensation of it pressed to his face. If he moved, there were little pieces of gravel on the ground that scratched against his skin. There was still the comforting weight of his gear on his body. He could see the stars.

Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she peeped into the book that her sister reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, 'and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice, 'without pictures or conversation?'

His left boot was laced up a little tighter than his right one. When he breathed, a little cloud of vapour appeared in front of his face. He could feel the ridges of the lock picks that were hidden in the hem of his under armour.

It is a universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

He shifted his right foot in his boot and felt the outline of the credit card knife that he'd stashed in his sole. The packet of nicotine gum in his jacket pocket dug into his side a little when he moved. The air smelled like rain - what was the word for it? Pet... Petrichor? Yeah, that was it. The air smelled like petrichor.

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east and Juliet is the sun. Arise fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thous her maid art more fair than she: Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green-

His entire body jolted and he could feel himself being taken into the dark recesses of his mind. Fuck.

Everything went black and then, it was painfully bright. He recognised it as the shitty fluorescent lightbulbs of his childhood home - well, apartment, anyway. It was quiet and dread set into his stomach like lead.

He felt something strike the side of his head, and he fell back, hand moving up to shield himself. His fingertips grazed blood and broken glass. He was hit again and again and again - his back felt like it was covered in welts and cuts, and he felt small. He could barely hear Willis's voice over the sound of his own whimpers.

Then, it stopped and that was somehow so much worse.

It went black again for a few moments and suddenly, he was in an alleyway. He felt his skin being burned by cigarettes, fingernails digging into his arms, his hair being yanked at - he felt violated and dirty. The smell of cheap liquor and sweat settled into the air around him and he couldn't breathe.

He knew that it was just in his head, but that did little to stop the onslaught of tears.

It grew dark again and Jason was thankful for the relief. Until his vision focused again. He was in the bathroom, clutching his mother. His entire body shook with anguished sobs. Her skin was cold and damp against his. Her eyes stared up at him, wide and lifeless. He was alone.

His grip on her body tightened and he felt her dissolve in his arm. When he realised where he was this time, he let out a strangled cry that half-caught in his throat. His hands were pinned behind his back and the rope cut into the raw flesh of his wrists. The laughter that still haunted him permeated the air. He felt his bones break, and his skin cut and burned. Forehand or backhand, birdy? He felt his own blood trickle down his skin, mingling with months of dirt and sweat.

This wasn't the worst thing that he'd have to face. It was definitely one of them but wasn't the worst.

Then there was the bleeping of the timer, and his body froze. There was sobbing in his ear, though not his own - a woman's - and he felt the dampness of her tears soaking into the back of his suit. She didn't deserve to be remembered as his mother, so she wasn't. Her name was Sheila Haywood, and all she became was another figure in his tragedy of a life. He wanted to hate her for what she did to him, but he couldn't. And he hated himself for being so weak.

The blast came and the heat of fire licked at his skin, leaving a burning numbness. His lungs flooded with smoke and soot, and he coughed and spluttered, yearning for air. He was dead.

When he woke again, he couldn't move - everything was just too close. His hands shot out, hitting the lining of his coffin, and his heartbeat staggered in his chest. He cried out, begged, until his voice shattered and then, he sobbed until he couldn't breathe.

He clawed his way out, fuelled by desperation and sheer grit. His hands were bloody and raw, and his entire body trembled. He staggered a few feet before his legs buckled. Jason Todd was alive, and that was only the start of his problems.

This time, the black faded out faster. His lungs burned as he drowned, and he reached out, looking for the surface. He was submerged for what seemed like an eternity.

He knew exactly what was going to come next.

He felt the punches - his face going through porcelain and lodging shards into his wounds. That was what broke him, though. It was that moment on the rooftop, all those years ago. He had a gun to that fucker's head, and he had won, goddammit. Then he felt something sharp hit his throat, and he choked and gurgled, feeling his warm blood spill out over his hands. The flames of another explosion echoed in his head and he lied there, hoping that he would just die.

He didn't.

He was dragged out of the rubble and tossed into the back of a jet. He felt Talia's fingers comb through his hair - slowly pushing him under her manipulative thumb. The next two years of his life were worse than hell.

He would never submit, though. No matter how much they tortured or drugged or beat him. They'd managed little more than to desensitise him to the sound of his own bones snapping and the feeling of agony flaring through his veins from a syringe. If he hadn't been able to crack Jason, Ra's Al Ghul sure as fuck wasn't going to.

Not that Talia would have allowed him to get that far - as cold and cruel as she was, she protected him, cared him even; stopped her father from having Jason's throat slit every time Jason told him to fuck off; tended to his wounds after he'd antagonised his teachers into attacking

That didn't mean he didn't suffer, because god only knew how much they made him hurt. She always saw it as making him stronger, and although he resented her for toying with him, he had to agree. His teachers and training made him better than he had been before - that they were. It almost took away the sting of being replaced, of being forgotten like they couldn't wait to get rid of him, of having his entire existence reduced to nothing more than a cautionary tale.

He felt himself coming back and regaining control over his body. The rooftop was cold against the bare skin of his face. He forced himself to sit up. There was some vague movement around him, but he ignored it, focusing on trying to orientate himself.

"Breathe." Bruce's voice was commanding - as it always was when he wore the cowl - but it was also patient, soothing nearly. "Just breathe, Jason."

He obeyed, taking long, deliberate breaths and leaning into Bruce. Bruce began to quietly count, even and slow, until Jason's breathing steadied enough for everything to come back to reality.

"Shit," he mumbled, drawing his knees up to his chest. God, his throat felt like it was made of sandpaper. He glanced around; besides himself and Bruce, the rooftop was empty. "How long was I..."

Bruce didn't respond and that gave Jason a good enough estimate. He tried to stand, but his legs couldn't quite manage to support him. Bruce reached out to hold him up. "You should rest."

Jason shook his head. "Wanna go home. Sleep."

Bruce adjusted them so that he was supporting more of Jason's weight, and began walking them across the rooftop. "Which one of your safehouses is closest?"

Jason frowned, trying to get his thoughts in line long enough for him to answer. "Park Row. Twenty-six. Third floor. Balcony's on the north side."

It was one of the shittier ones, but it was only ten minutes away and Jason probably could've fallen asleep right there and then, on the concrete, anyway.

Bruce nodded and brought them to the edge of the rooftop, where the fire-escape was. They began descending and Jason stumbled on a few of the steps. Bruce's grip on him tightened and he was now completely holding Jason up.

Bruce helped him into the batmobile and then, he must have blacked out because the journey there seemed faster than it should have been. He was barely even lucid when they got to the apartment complex. "We're going to have to grapple up. Hold on, okay?"

He gave a weak nod and gripped onto Bruce's cape, right where it met with his shoulder. He felt the rush of cold through his hair and a little wave of nausea, and then, they were on solid ground again. "Keys?"

It took a moment for him to process what Bruce was asking for, and another moment to wake his body up enough to react.

"Inside pocket," he murmured, his voice beginning to slur. He gave a tiny gesture towards his jacket pocket and then felt Bruce rifling through his pockets before fishing out a ring of keys. Bruce began to sort through them and the light clanging of metal went straight through him. "Number 6."

Bruce nodded and the door unlocked with a quiet click. They walked inside and Jason's foot caught a little on the edge of the door frame. It was a small, two-room apartment. There were three pieces of furniture in the bedroom: a mattress, an armchair, and a chest of drawers.

Jason staggered away from Bruce and all but collapsed onto the mattress with a small groan. His eyes fell shut and his body went limp.

Bruce stood there for a moment, watching Jason sleep. If it weren't for the costume and the brand, he'd look just like any other kid his age. He cautiously approached Jason, wary of waking him - though he doubted that Jason would be waking up anytime soon.

He knelt down beside him, feeling for a pulse. It was stronger and steadier than it had been before and that made him relax a little. Then, he went to work, slowly prying off Jason's boots, jacket, Kevlar until he was just in his under armour. He placed Jason's covers over his body and the way that he instantly curled up under them made his chest tighten.

He stepped back and sat down in the armchair in the corner.

'Hey,' came Barbara's voice through the comms. 'How is he?'

"Better," Bruce said quietly. "He's asleep. I think I'll stay here to keep an eye on him."

'Okay. See you later. Night.'

"Goodnight."

He settled further into the chair, the leather creaking slightly as he did. Silence settled over the room and all that was left was the soft sound of Jason's breathing and Bruce's own thoughts.

At the best of times, Bruce was a glutton for punishment, and, when it came to Jason, there was no shortage of things to punish himself for. It didn't help that he could practically track what Jason had experienced - every memory that Jason had been forced to relive.

His heart had started to crack when Jason had gone through his death again - when Jason had woken up in his coffin and screamed Bruce's name until his voice broke. And then, it had shattered into a million fucking pieces when Jason had grasped at his throat and gargled like it had been slit. It was a horrible, awful noise that he was certain would be keeping him up at night.

It hurt him even more, however, to know that he had done that to Jason. To his own son.

Jason stirred a little in his sleep, whimpering, and Bruce tensed. The noises grew louder and more erratic until Jason was crying and heaving so hard that Bruce wasn't sure he was still breathing.

Bruce panicked for a moment and his blood stilled in his veins. Then he moved, crouching down beside Jason and carefully resting a hand on Jason's forehead. The second that he made contact, Jason's fist flew out and hit Bruce square in the face.

He fell back, stunned by the blow, and was suddenly reminded of how strong Jason was. He was easily bigger than Bruce now, and god knows what the Lazarus Pit did to him. He also remembered how jumpy Jason could get sometimes and decided to change tactic.

"Jason." His voice was low and authoritative. Jason reacted to it. "Jason, it's Bruce."

Jason reacted to it again, tensing and turning towards him. Bruce wasn't entirely sure that it was positive, but at least it was working.

"Jason. I need you to breathe." Jason shook his head frantically, muttering. "You need to breathe. Please. Can you do that for me? You need to breathe, Jason."

Jason's body trembled as he forced himself to take a deep breath. He took another and another and another, and Bruce began counting as he had on the rooftop. Eventually, Jason slipped back into a slightly less fitful slumber.

He stirred a few more times during the night, though nothing as bad as the first time. Bruce jolted upright every single time he moved, every time he took a breath that was just a little too sharp. The sun was starting to rise now, and sunlight was beginning to stream through the balcony windows.

Jason woke up, sprawling out over the mattress. He laid there for a while, crying silently. Bruce was long since gone, but Jason knew that he had been there.


	2. The Other Side

It almost happened in slow motion. Scarecrow took aim at the Red Hood, who was too busy defending Batman's back to notice. Robin was the one who spotted him and called out a warning - but he was too late. The dart sunk into Hood's shoulder and he swore over the comms.

He reached around and yanked it out, sending the fucking thing skittering across the rooftop. The toxin was already taking effect and Hood was clearly dazed.

It was concerning, especially considering that Scarecrow's usually concoction didn't really affect Hood all that much. He'd get twitchy and kinda antsy, and he'd bitch about hearing and seeing things that weren't there, but he didn't go through the usual fits of terror that the rest of them did. They all assumed that it had something to do with the Lazarus Pit, but none of them had actually ever asked him.

It took under a minute for him to start swaying. Everyone, upon realising this, redoubled their efforts to take down Scarecrow's men. Batman brought down the last one with a punch that was probably harder than needed - though, the guy, to his credit, took it and then scarpered. The rest of Scarecrow's men had already scattered, obviously sensing their chance to escape.

'Black Bat, Signal, Spoiler, go after them.'

'On it.'

Batman approached Hood and cautiously grabbed his shoulder. Hood flinched away and it was obvious how bad it was already. Batman moved back, not wanting to provoke him. It didn't look like he'd get violent, but no one wanted to take that risk.

Red Robin landed on the rooftop softly and came up to them. Hood bristled at the sound of his footsteps and his hand hovered over his gun, his fingers twitching slightly. "Hood, it's just me."

He didn't relax, though it did look like he was ignoring Red now. His head was jerking around kinda erratically, but he did still seem lucid. He lurched forward suddenly and Nightwing reached out instinctively. His fingertips grazed Hood's arm and he turned sharply, barely catching his footing in time.

"Get the fuck away from me," he said, in that augmented growl that his helmet gave him. "All of you need to back the fuck up."

Nightwing stepped back defensively. Hood's breathing was getting more and more uneven and desperate, and was now loud enough for them to be able to hear through his helmet. He stood there for a moment, wobbling and his legs were trembling in a way that could only mean one thing:

"He's gonna fall," Batgirl said. As soon as the words left her mouth, Hood's knees buckled and he collapsed. Batman caught him and, even then, Hood still battled weakly against it. He laid him down on the concrete and immediately stepped away.

"Helmet," Hood rasped out after a few seconds of struggling. "Off."

Red knelt down hesitantly and undid the latches, then he clumsily tugged it off. Hood gasped for air, clawing at the ground. If it weren't for the fact that he kept twitching, they wouldn't have known about the toxin currently forcing its way around his system. Red tucked Hood's helmet under his arm and stood up, noting that Hood was muttering under his breath. It sounded like complete nonsense, but he figured it was a way to delay the inevitable.

'We lost 'em.'

"That doesn't matter," Nightwing answered. "Come back. We might need back up."

Hood's body gave one last jolt and then he stopped. For a moment, they thought that he had beaten it. They were wrong.

Hood flinched and his arm moved to shield his face. He kept wincing like he was being hit and whimpering. It was a soft, broken noise that was made so much worse by the bravado that Jason always seemed to have - the unshakeable confidence and fearlessness that he held himself with. He looked like a little kid, small and afraid.

They could only guess what he was going through, though the way that Bruce's teeth gritted together said that he knew exactly what it was. Watching Jason felt wrong, like they were intruding on some intimate moment. They supposed that, in a sense, they were.

Behind them, the others landed on the rooftop, but none of them reacted. Their attention was solely focused on Jason.

It took forty minutes for him to stop - about as long as a normal run of regular fear toxin lasted - but this was clearly not a normal run of regular fear toxin. The tension ran out of his body all at once and his hair was slicked with sweat.

Then, he curled up so tightly that it looked painful. His hands were threaded in his hair and he was crying - silent tears that leaked through his domino mask. Removing it briefly flickered through their minds, but none of them wanted to get too close.

This wasn't as difficult to watch, but the way that Jason muttered to himself was still deeply unsettling ("C'mon, Jay." His accent was suddenly heavier. "Just a little longer. Just a little longer."). It took another twenty minutes for him to stop this time, though he almost immediately started wailing. He screamed and cried so loudly that it actually made some of them flinch.

"No. No. No. Mom, please wake up. Please wake up. Mom. C'mon. C'mon. Please just wake up"

Bruce's hand was lingering over the tranquillizer on his belt and Dick's hand was gripping his wrist.

"We don't know how it'll work with the toxin."

Bruce's hand begrudgingly moved away and he folded his arms across his chest, inhaling sharply when Jason let out a particularly pained cry. "Get the others back to the cave. They shouldn't have to watch this."

Dick nodded and turned. "Why don't you guys go back to the cave? We've got this."

Steph and Duke seemed relieved to be able to leave, but Cass looked hesitant, which made sense because out of the three of them - hell, maybe out of all of them - Cass was the closest to Jason. She was, after all, the only one of them (excluding Alfred) that Jason trusted enough to give the locations of all his safehouses.

"No," she said resolutely, shaking her head. "I have to stay - need to look after him."

"That's fine," Steph said quickly, releasing Cass's hand from her own. "Signal and I can go. We'll tell you when we get back to the cave."

She tugged at Duke's hand, pulling him away. They grappled off the rooftop and were out of sight within a few minutes. Dick glanced at the others, who were all firmly stood in place. None of them seemed quite as affected as Steph and Duke had, but it was clear that all of this was starting to get to them.

It was the next few that whittled away at them. Everyone knew when Jason got to the Joker - the unease settled into the air like smog. It started with a little, broken cry that forced its way out of his throat. Jason thrashed and sobbed desperately. Bruce's teeth ground together so hard that it was audible.

"No. No! No! Get the fuck away from me." Jason's voice was shrill with fear and panic. "Please. No! Don't-"

His head lurched back into the concrete and his body struggled wildly. They could almost hear the sound of the brand burning into his skin.

It took forty-five minutes for Jason to finally escape. His head dropped a little and his breathing steadied for a moment. The air suddenly felt lighter.

But, then, Jason's head snapped up and pure fear spread across his face. After a few seconds, there was another emotion - resignation, acceptance. He coughed and choked and spluttered until his entire body went slack and the silence was deafening.

Jason fell onto his back and his breathing was so shallow that they weren't entirely sure that he was still breathing. An eternity passed and Jason began to move again. It started with small twitches and his face screwing up a little bit. His hands flew out, though they stopped abruptly halfway, as if they had struck an invisible barrier.

"Batman?" Jason mumbled, his voice catching a little in his throat. It was so innocent and hopeful, and it broke their hearts. Barbara and Dick were crying - tears flooding down their faces. Jason repeated himself, panic flaring in his voice. He began sobbing and pounding his fists on his coffin. "Batman! Batman! I'm in here! I'm in here. I'm-" His face fell with the realisation. "No, no, no, no. God, no. Please."

"Oh, god," Tim muttered, turning away. "I can't- I just... I just can't."

Dick reached out, forcing his eyes away from Jason and resting a hand on Tim's shoulder. "It's okay, Red. You can go back to the cave if you need to."

Tim gave a small nod, swiping the back of his hand over his eyes. He mumbled something about trying to find the dart to run some tests and Dick gave his shoulder a small squeeze before releasing him. He noted that Barbara left with Tim, but didn't move to stop her.

"Batman! Batman. Help me! Please. Fuck, someone. Help me. Bruce!" His voice was already beginning to wane but that didn't seem to matter. "Bruce! Please, Bruce. Bruce. Bruce..."

He fucking broke - Jason sobbed and wailed, and it was a hopeless, broken noise.

By the time that Jason dug himself out, his voice was almost too gone to hear anymore, but they could all see that he was still crying. Every movement was stiff and pained. He continued to struggle for a few more seconds before his entire body seized and tensed.

It looked like he stopped breathing and his hands reached out desperately, but there was this helplessness in his face that hurt to look at.

"The Lazarus Pit," Damian mumbled - barely even a whisper. His hands were bound into tight fists down by his sides to stop them from shaking.

Jason flinched, and then, he did it again and again and again. He fought back this time though - throwing a punch or a kick every so often; he even went for his weapons a few times. It was still crystal clear that he was taking one hell of a beating, but the fact that he was, at least, able to fight back made it more bearable.

"Bruce," Jason whispered. Bruce's jaw tensed like he was trying to crack his own teeth - it would probably be less painful than watching this. "I forgive you for not saving me. But why? Why on god's earth is he still alive?"

The tension in the air was so thick that it was impossible to breathe - Bruce looked like he'd stopped trying to. "Go."

His voice was as monotonous and unfeeling as it always was in the cowl, but it was laced with venom and anger and desperation. He couldn't let them see it.

"B," Dick said soothingly, moving to rest a hand on Bruce's shoulder. Bruce grabbed it before Dick could touch him and his grip was so tight that it hurt a little. He couldn't let them see.

"Go. Now. All of you."

He released Dick's wrist and Dick turned away, rubbing it absently. "Come on, guys," he said, herding the others towards the ledge. "Time to go."

Cass went willingly, clearly reading Bruce in a way that he hated sometimes, but Damian wasn't as easy to get moving. It wasn't like he wanted to watch; it was more that he couldn't look away. Before they could make it to the ledge, it happened. And they saw it.

Jason let out a loud choking noise and his hands clasped around his throat. He started gargling and heaving for air. Bruce knew that they'd stopped, but he couldn't bring himself to turn and look at them.

Dick pulled and Cass's and Damian's capes, trying to keep them moving, but it was a half-hearted effort at best because he couldn't tear his eyes away from Jason. God... that was something that'd haunt him for a while.

He looked at Jason's neck - thinking about that scaly slash of white that marred his skin - and Bruce, who was stiff with guilt, and something just clicked.

Jason had a lot of scars - more than any of them, even with more conservative estimates - and Dick was well aware of the fact that Jason hated them. He refused to show more skin than was absolutely necessary, but all of them knew what lurked beneath all that armour, even if they'd never seen it. Dick had only ever seen it once, though by complete accident.

Dick had snuck into one of Jason's safehouses to check up on him and Jason had been passed out on his bed in nothing but his underwear. Every inch of him was covered by something, but there had been the ones that particularly stuck out: the autopsy scar, the brand, and the scar on his throat. The first two, as awful as they were, had been easy enough to explain away, but that scar... He just couldn't reason it out, couldn't find an explanation for it.

He'd waited until Jason woke up and then tried to ask him about it. Jason had kicked Dick out and then refused to even look at him for weeks. Dick supposed that he deserved it, for intruding on Jason privacy like that, but the scar still bothered him. It wasn't one that you just 'got' - people don't just walk away from an injury like that. He tried to bring it up a few more times but Jason always got defensive and Dick soon decided that satiating his own curiosity wasn't worth losing his brother again.

He'd still catch glimpses of it every so often - on the rare occasion that he saw Jason in civilian clothing. The scar sat low enough on Jason's neck, almost on the junction of where it met his collarbone, but it was visible if Jason craned his neck too much, or if he wore something that was cut particularly low (for Jason at least). The sight of it would cause the morbid curiosity to bubble up again and he'd scoured every file involving Jason in order to figure it out. He had found nothing.

It made more sense now. Bruce had given Jason that scar. But why? When?

He finally managed to snap his eyes away from Jason and tugged at the others, forcing them to go with him. He cast one last look at Bruce as he left.


	3. The Kids Aren't Alright

The sound of Steph's motorbike roaring into the batcave was loud - echoing sharply against the cave walls in a way that didn't quite feel right. She and Duke rode back in silence, not quite sure what to say and not quite sure what they were supposed to be feeling.

Alfred was there - as he was every night - ready to see to any injuries. They dismounted from the bike, still a little shaky, and Alfred's face dropped ever so slightly in confusion. He quirked up an eyebrow in question.

"The others are still out," Steph said, her voice coming out raspy. She swiped the back of her hand over her eyes tiredly. "Uh, Jason took a hit of fear toxin. It was... It was pretty bad."

Alfred nodded, though his eyes glimmered with concern and worry. Although he'd never admit it aloud, Jason was probably Alfred's favourite (at least that was what it looked like to Steph) - he definitely worried about Jason more than he did the rest of them. Steph felt a sudden pang of guilt at her wording; Alfred was probably assuming the worst.

"He's gonna be fine, though," she added quickly, in an attempt to comfort Alfred. "It just looked like he was going through a regular run of it, but it's just that he isn't usually..."

"Master Jason isn't usually as affected by Scarecrow's fear toxin," Alfred offered. Steph nodded and Alfred turned sharply on his heel. "Seeing as though the both of you have had quite a distressing night, I believe that hot drinks are in order."

"Thanks, Alfred."

"It's my pleasure, Miss Stephanie." And with that, Alfred made off towards the elevator.

Steph turned her attention to Duke, who was staring bleakly at the floor. Duke was still pretty new and hadn't seen the effects of fear toxin before - it wasn't ever a pleasant thing to see, especially not with someone like Jason who had more trauma than anyone ought to. Duke looked like he was replaying what he'd seen, and Steph knew from experience that it was never a good idea to get inside your head too much.

"Hey," she said quietly, nudging him. He jolted slightly and looked at her blearily. "You okay?"

"I don't know," he said after a few moments, shrugging. "I just... I don't know."

Steph nodded. "Wanna talk about it?"

Duke shrugged again and Steph pulled him over to the stairs that led up to the batcomputer. "I know that it's rough to see someone like that," she said, resting a hand on his knee. "Especially when they're normally as stubborn and pig-headed as Jason."

Steph cracked a grin and Duke gave a weak smile. "I'm gonna have to re-evaluate where I've put Scarecrow on my threat-list."

Steph cackled - louder and more enthusiastically than was really due, but it was keeping the mood up. Duke's face broke out into a genuine smile and he laughed quietly along with her. "Yeah, well," she said, shrugging nonchalantly, "at the end of the day, Crane's still just a nerd with a bag on his head."

The laughter died out slowly and that same pensive look returned to Duke's face. Steph gave a sad smile and nudged him again. "Jason'll be okay. He'll be fine."

Duke nodded. "I know. It's just that..." He frowned a little before shaking his head. "Never mind."

"Come on," she urged. "I wanna hear it."

He looked at her for a moment. "It's just that- Jason told me about his mom after he found out about my parents. And when he was... It was just kinda..."

She nodded sympathetically, before deciding to divert the conversation a little. "I didn't know that you and Jason talked."

Duke shrugged and made a small noise. "It's not really like... We're cool, but it's not like we're _friends _or anything. It's not like you or Barbara or Cass or Tim," he said. "We hang out sometimes - play video games, watch movies, talk about stuff."

"That sounds like friends to me."

Duke shrugged again and his expression was one that Steph recognised. He didn't feel like he fit in, like he _belonged_. "I help him cook sometimes. He's _really _good at it, though, so I don't know why."

Steph raised an eyebrow. "He _lets _you help him? Like willingly?"

Duke nodded, frowning. "Yeah?"

She let out a small scoff. "He doesn't let the rest of us. He even banned Tim from going into the kitchen unsupervised because he accidentally started a fire." She grinned at Duke and elbowed him playfully. "If you and Jason aren't friends, then I don't know what to tell you."

Duke smiled, visibly surer of himself.

"How'd you two even meet?" Steph said, staring up into the dark roof of the cave. "Your patrol route doesn't go near Jason's turf."

"It was like last year, I think," Duke began. "I came across this robbery and the guy bolted before I could get to him. He made it all the way to Bowery before I cornered him, but he had a gun and he... y'know."

Steph nodded. She vaguely remembered it being the first time that Bruce had gotten _pissed _at Duke. Though she was sure that he was more concerned about the fact that Duke had been shot and then gone radio silent for an hour in one of the most dangerous areas of Gotham.

"I thought I was gonna die," he said. "But then Jason showed up and saved me. I mean, I still thought I was gonna die, because it was _the Red Hood_."

Steph gave a small snort of laughter at that.

"He asked me if I was okay. And I was just... confused. Like _really _confused." Duke frowned to emphasise the point. "He took me to one of his safehouses and I was a little less terrified but I still had no idea what was going on. He patched me up and it was kinda weird how nice he was about everything. Like he offered me food - I think it was probably the nicest stir-fry that I've ever had."

Steph nodded. "Bruce benched you after that, didn't he? He thought you were out there by yourself. You could have told him. Jason and Bruce have been cool for a couple of years now."

"Jason told me not to," Duke said simply. "He said that he didn't want Bruce to get any ideas about him becoming some sappy babysitter like Dick. His words, not mine."

"That sounds like Jason," Steph said amusedly. "You know that it was probably a test, right? Jason has this thing about trust - can't exactly blame him, but still. He was definitely just testing you."

To Steph's surprise, Duke just shrugged. "I figured it was something like that because his excuse was kinda lame."

"Yeah, Jason sucks _ass_ at excuses," she said, shaking her head very solemnly. "Couldn't lie his way out of a wet paper bag."

Tim and Barbara returned about an hour and a half later. They both looked _awful_ \- hair mussed by their helmets and their eyes red and dry. Tim had the dart zipped up in a plastic bag that was clutched in his hand and Jason's helmet tucked under his arm.

Steph and Duke looked up from the game of Monopoly that Alfred had brought down to distract them. Identical looks of concern plastered their faces when they realised that Tim and Barbara were alone.

"He's still..." Duke whispered, watching as Barbara and Tim dismounted their bikes. "Isn't he?"

"I think so," Steph replied, frowning. "Oh, god..."

They watched as Tim and Barbara wandered over into the open space of the batcave. Barbara tore back her cowl and rubbed a hand over her face tiredly. Tim did the same, though he completely removed his cape, leaving it sprawled out over the floor.

Alfred hurried over and snatched up Tim's cape, folding it neatly and then draping it over one of the railings. They exchanged a few words and the sad look in Alfred's face returned.

"Shit," Steph mumbled. "It must've been pretty bad."

Tim handed Jason's helmet over to Alfred and then excused himself from the conversation. He sped over to the lab, fiddling with the plastic bag in his hands, from across the cave, Steph caught Barbara's eye and she motioned for Steph to go after him.

"Don't cheat," she said, waggling her finger at Duke. "I'll be right back to kick your ass."

Duke just looked at her with an eyebrow raised - Steph had been losing, _horrifically _too. She backed away very slowly, drawing her cape up around her face with her arm and doing a very poor imitation of Bruce's bat-glare at Duke. "What are you doing?"

"Asserting my dominance." Duke gave a loud sigh, but Steph didn't stop.

She bumped into the wall and then began to grope blindly for the door handle, refusing to break eye contact. Once she found it, she turned and went into the room, giving Duke one last accusing look.

Duke shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This family..."

"Hey, Tim," Steph said, coming up behind him and peering over his shoulder. "Is that the dart that got Jason?"

Tim nodded, not trusting his voice. Steph backed away, moving to Tim's side, and Tim focused on dismantling the dart instead. He could still hear Jason's voice echoing in his head and it made him feel nauseous.

Steph rested a hand on his shoulder and he barely managed to suppress his reaction. "It was _bad, _wasn't it?"

He gave another weak nod, leaning into Steph a little. His hands fumbled with the dart. There were tiny smudges of blood on the needle and a small amount of the toxin still in the glass chamber. "Jason..." Tim said, slightly croaky. "He woke up in his coffin, and... and he was just... _god_, he was so _scared_."

Steph rubbed his back comfortingly. Tim felt his hands begin to shake and he set the dart down on the table. His eyes fell shut as he tried to compose himself.

"He's claustrophobic, Steph," he murmured. "He told me and I've... I've seen him have panic attacks. I knew that he woke up in his coffin. But, I never... I never put those two together."

Tim's hands moved to grip the edges of the table to stop them from trembling as much. He was so _scared_, Steph. And there... there wasn't anything that I could do to help him. He had to suffer, terrified and alone, and there was nothing that I could do to help him."

Steph gave him a soft smile. "You can still help him," she said, ducking her head down to meet his eye. "He's gonna need us - all of us._ You can still help him_."

Tim nodded, sniffling and swiping a hand over his face. "Yeah, you're right."

Steph grinned wickedly and punched Tim in the arm with as much force as she could. "Well, no shit, Sherlock."

"Ouch," Tim mumbled, rubbing where Steph had hit him. She snorted in response.

"Don't be such a baby," she said, leering at him playfully. Tim was a lot calmer now, but his hands weren't nearly steady enough to dismantle the dart. Steph nodded towards one of the lab stools. "Why don't I take over? You can walk through it."

Tim dragged it over to where they were and perched on it, putting most of his weight on the table. "When'd you get so good at all that therapy talk, anyway?"

"I think it's just my personality; I'm real good with babies," she said, laughing. She pulled on a pair of latex gloves and picked up the dart. "Nah, I guess I just picked up some stuff from Dick and Cass."

"I'm sure that they'd be proud."

"Yeah. Yeah. Whatever." She brought the dart up to her eye-level, turning it in her hands. "Alright, tell me what to do, nerd."

Tim rolled his eyes but relented. "There are four buttons around the base. You need to press all of them at once."

When they returned to the cave, it was quiet. On most nights, the air would be bright - alive with chatter and post-patrol adrenaline. This time, however, it was hollow and empty.

Barbara was up at the batcomputer with Duke stood next to her, leaning against the computer chair. They both glanced behind them when Dick's motorcycle rumbled into the cave. Dick and Cass dismounted quietly and Damian got out of the sidecar without a single word.

Bruce wasn't with them. Barbara and Duke glanced at each other. Bruce wasn't with them, which meant that he was still...

Dick tugged off his helmet clumsily and ran a hand through his hair. He tore off his mask, not caring about how it stung when the glue pulled at his skin. It was like he didn't even realise that Cass and Damian were there until Cass grabbed his hand, frowning up at him.

Dick stopped, closing his eyes, and took a deep breath. He rolled his shoulders, trying to force the tension out of them. He was only successful superficially - the stress and anxiety was clear in every stiff step and sharp breath that he took. Cass's frown deepened and Damian was watching him carefully.

"How is he?" Barbara called out, already knowing the answer.

"He's still..." Dick gestured uncomfortably. "Bruce is there with him."

There was something in Dick's voice that was unsettling. Something that lurked just below the surface of his usually bright demeanour. Cass knew what it was immediately: _anger_.

Anger, surprisingly, was something that Dick was very familiar with. Everyone always pegged Jason as the 'angry Robin,' and thus, neglected her eldest brother's wrath.

Dick's anger was always an explosion - an uncontrolled flurry that, whilst short-lived, was _dangerous_. It pushed him to do things that he would never do otherwise; it was overwhelming enough to push him to _kill_. His fury came as raised voices, and righteousness, and painful things that you don't really mean but say and do because you want them to _hurt_. It was dry and sharp and callous.

How someone so kind could also be so cruel was something that she'd never know.

All that she did know was that it _radiated _off him, and it had something to do with the Joker, her father, and that awful scar on her brother's neck. She could only dread how they were connected.

Damian was concerningly quiet. It was understandable, all things considered, but that didn't make it any less worrying. He hadn't said a single word - not as they fled the rooftop, not as they returned to the cave, not as Cass led him into the kitchen.

"Little brother," she called, peering at him from around the freezer door, "what ice-cream do you want?"

Damian looked at her from his perch on the counter - his face unusually blank - and said nothing. She could tell that he was still processing, judging by the way that his fingers clawed gently at the edge of the marble countertop and the fact that he was chewing on the inside of his lip.

"Chocolate," she answered for him, with a firm nod. She remembered Steph and Jason telling her that chocolate was good for lifting spirits. "Chocolate is good."

She lugged the ridiculously large container from its drawer and walked across the kitchen. The floor tiles didn't feel nearly as cold as they had before but they still sent small shivers up her legs as she went. She set the container down and noted that Damian visibly flinched at the loud noise.

She made a point of not looking at him so that he had the time to compose himself. Her littlest brother was very prideful and she didn't want to upset him. She rooted through the drawers, watching out of the corner of her eye as Damian ran a hand through his hair (a nervous tick that all her brothers seemed to have) and tugged at the collar of his pyjama shirt.

She let out a quiet, triumphant noise as she found the scoop beneath the tea towels (presumably hidden there by Bruce or Alfred). She heaped the ice-cream into two bowls and then carried the notably less heavy tub back into the freezer.

She handed Damian his bowl and climbed up onto the counter, next to him. Alfred certainly wouldn't approve of their choice of seating, but he was still in the cave and Cass was sure that he'd make an exception - this was an emergency, after all.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Cass quite happily eating and Damian watching blankly as his ice-cream melted. Cass always ate quickly - it was a force of habit, she supposed. It was better than it used to be: she wolfed it down like she hadn't eaten all day instead of desperately shovelling it into her mouth faster than she could chew. Jason did the same, though it was clearly something that he'd forced himself to grow out of.

She set her empty bowl down beside her and looked over to Damian, frowning slightly. Damian was sensitive and empathetic, even if he tried to pretend that he wasn't; it was gradually becoming more obvious as he became more comfortable at the manor.

"Little brother."

Nothing.

"Dami."

Nothing.

"Damian."

Nothing.

She cocked her head to the side, thinking of an appropriate next step. She turned her spoon in her hand and suddenly had an idea. Slowly, she brought her hand up behind Damian and pressed the cold metal of the spoon against the back of his neck.

Immediately, Damian jolted forward, almost coming off the counter, and his hand swiped behind him defensively. His eyes met Cass's in a furious glare and she looked at him amusedly - that was the little brother that she loved. "What was the meaning of that?"

She shrugged, reaching over to touch him with the cold spoon again. He swatted at her hand and narrowed his eyes at her, though it lacked any real malice.

"You were thinking too much." She tapped his forehead with her index finger and he let her with nothing but a small wrinkling of his nose. "It's not good to get inside your head."

Damian bristled, pulling away slightly, and made a haughty face - Cass always thought that expression made him look like his mother. She raised an eyebrow at him and shifted so that her body was turned to him.

"It's okay," she said softly, bringing her knees up to her chest. "You're worried, and that's okay."

"I'm not..." Damian muttered - Cass probably wouldn't have heard him if it weren't for the silence of the kitchen. The expression that flickered across his face was entirely his - _their_ \- father.

"It's okay," she said again because she needed him to believe that. "It's okay to care. We all do."

Damian shuffled a little closer to her and she smiled at him. Her littlest brother was never very good with words or with feelings. But that was okay too.

The batmobile roared into the cave - so loud that it practically shook the walls. It came to a rolling stop alongside the collection of motorcycles and, after a few moments, Bruce climbed out. His boots made soft thuds against the solid ground and they echoed in the awful silence. Bruce was _exhausted_.

His armour came off in pieces scattered across the cave floor; his cowl and cape, then his belt, then the Kevlar, and finally his boots. He came up to the batcomputer and slumped into the computer chair - the creak of leather was painfully familiar.  


He swallowed roughly, eyes flickering shut. Jason was screaming again, and Bruce wasn't sure if it was a hallucination or just a memory. It _felt _real, his son's voice dragging along the cave walls like he was right behind Bruce.

Jason was crying too, or was about to - Bruce could always pick it out in his voice; the way that it would crack and catch in his throat like he was about to shatter. There were very few things that cut into him like that sound did.

"You replaced me. I was _dead_ and you replaced me like I was nothing." Jason's voice was low and soft, and Bruce couldn't stand when it was like that. It was worse than the screaming - infinitely - because at least when Jason was angry and shouting, Bruce could pretend that it was a fight. He knew how to fight.

But, _this_ \- his son crying and trembling, and looking every bit of the _child _that he was - this wasn't a fight, and Bruce never knew what to do. He loved all of his children but none of them got to him like Jason could. None of them made him feel as vulnerable and helpless and _guilty _as Jason could.

"You chose _him_ over me." Bruce could feel himself tearing up. "I didn't expect you to do it, and I didn't expect you to let _me _do it, and I didn't expect that you'd try to kill me to save him."

Bruce shuddered as a sob forced its way out of him. His hands shook slightly as he logged into the batcomputer and brought up a file drive.

"What if it had been Dick?"

That made him tense up. Jason had always had a way with words - he jabbed at Bruce's armour until he found a weak spot and then, he pried it open with his bare hands. It didn't seem to matter how hard Bruce tried to hide it; Jason always knew when he hit a nerve. It was like watching a predator go straight for its prey's throat and sinking its teeth into the jugular.

"Would you have done it then?"

Bruce closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath. It felt like he was drowning.

"I'd get it if you said yes. He's your favourite - the _golden _son - and I was just some street rat that you felt bad for."

Bruce remembered that moment. He remembered looking into Jason eyes - dark and teal - and knowing that Jason meant every word of what he'd said. Bruce also remembered not being able to answer, and that had been worse than saying 'yes.'

He went for the first video that he could reach. The video came up - the batcave, too long ago. Robin was stood on the batmobile, a wicked grin spread across his face. Bruce - younger in more ways than one - approached him and he flipped down.

"This is awesome!" Jason said, throwing a kick into the air. "I'm Robin, the Boy Wonder."

That Bruce gave a low chuckle and ruffled the boy's hair. "Yeah. You are, Jay."

Jason took off across the batcave, cape fluttering behind him. "I'm Robin and being Robin gives me magic!"


End file.
